


The Swollen Now

by Mina



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 10:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4176807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mina/pseuds/Mina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jiyong & Seunghyun before a show. Fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Swollen Now

**Author's Note:**

> So I heard the phrase "the swollen now" on the radio tonight (last night) and thought, _well that's a fucking fantastic couple of words_ , but then I didn't get home until really late and I was really tired, and then I was like, _nah, I'm just going to write anyway_ , and normally I don't post things immediately after writing them because I like to take time to obsessively review every word, but it's just gone five in the morning and my judgment probably isn't the best and I thought _you know what, fuck it_ , so it's going up now and is probably riddled with typos, and I may or may not take it down or massively revise it when I wake up.
> 
> Also, I reserve the right to re-use this title because I think it's great and in general I hate titling things. Entitling things? I am entitled to re-use this title if I write something I like better that fits it because I said so.

Jiyong is a perfectionist. Everyone knows this. He can’t stand fucking things up, no matter how small. So, personally, he feels like he should be given a pass on how anxious he gets before big shows. Yes, he’s done this plenty of times before, yes, messing up wouldn’t be the end of the world, blah blah blah. He’s still anxious. So what? There’s nothing wrong with wanting to do things right.

And today he is especially anxious. For one thing, he’s completely fucking exhausted. He got like two hours of sleep last night and then a forty minute nap during the day that somehow left him more groggy, so he’s been drinking all this caffeine and now his heart is racing. He thought he’d have more time during the day: to practice, to talk to everyone, to check on the details, but he blinked and the day was gone and now the show is minutes from starting.

He knocks once, calls out, “It’s me,” and marches into Seunghyun’s dressing room without waiting for a response. Seunghyun usually gets his own space, and in this venue it’s an actual room with a door instead of just a curtained-off area. On another day they might’ve taken advantage of that – even just to hang out – but Jiyong hasn’t had a second to spare on his hyung.

“Are you sure you’ve got the choreography down?” he asks without preamble.

Seunghyun looks up from his phone and blinks. He’s playing some game that features bouncing cartoon characters with oversized heads.

“Well?” Jiyong’s hand is still on the doorknob, and he jiggles it in his impatience.

“Yes,” Seunghyun says.

“Because you’ve been turning the wrong way during –”

“I’ve got it.”

“Well, you turned the wrong way during rehearsal earlier.”

“I know. I’ll turn the right way for the show.”

Jiyong doesn’t like Seunghyun’s tone. And he’s still just sitting in his chair holding his phone. “It’s time to go,” Jiyong announces.

Seunghyun looks up at the clock across from the door. “We have a few more minutes,” he says, and he looks back down at his game.

“ _Hyung_ , will you just come _on_?” Jiyong moans. He strides across the room, takes Seunghyun’s phone from his hand, sets it on the dressing table, grabs his hyung by the arm, and pulls him out of his chair and towards the door.

But when they get there, Seunghyun reaches over Jiyong’s shoulder and shuts it. Jiyong turns around and finds Seunghyun is very close. It threatens to distract him for a split second, but he says firmly, “Hyung, we don’t have time for this.”

“Yes we do,” Seunghyun says, shifting closer and forcing Jiyong back against the door.

Jiyong huffs and crosses his arms, glaring up at Seunghyun, who is not actually touching him. One hand is still on the door, the other hangs at his side. “If you’re going to kiss me, just _do_ it,” Jiyong says, squirming in the tiny space Seunghyun has made for him. From this angle he can see the clock over Seunghyun’s shoulder. A minute has already passed since he came in.

“No,” Seunghyun breathes, so softly Jiyong almost doesn’t hear it. “Not yet.”

Jiyong huffs again, even louder this time. He uncrosses his arms, intending to push Seunghyun away, but Seunghyun runs his free hand up Jiyong’s arm and stills him. Jiyong’s eyes keep darting back and forth from Seunghyun to the clock, but then Seunghyun shifts a millimeter closer and Jiyong’s eyes stay on his. Hyung’s eyes are very dark, but at this distance Jiyong can detect the difference between the black of his pupil and the ring of deep brown around it. He can see the waterline of his lower lids, the tiny stray hairs where his brows try to creep across the bridge of his nose. He can see each eyelash and the microscopic smudge in Seunghyun’s makeup on the outer corner of his right eye.

Seunghyun still hasn’t made his move. Jiyong inhales deeply and closes his eyes, but his breath comes out slowly, not as a sigh. Seunghyun smells clean and fresh, like foundation and apple shampoo. And like himself. Just himself. Years and years ago, Jiyong borrowed a sweatshirt from Seunghyun for the first time ever and he remembers how fucking _rapturous_ it was to turn his head into the hood and smell him, how he’d plotted a way to be by himself so he could just bury his face in the fabric and take it in. It was intoxicating.

And it still is; after all this time, it still is. He forgets, sometimes; takes it for granted – hates that, but he does. Heat is radiating off Seunghyun and Jiyong can feel it, even through their clothes, even across the little gap that’s still between their bodies. He can feel Seunghyun’s breath, too, slow and steady across his face, and hear the little inhales and exhales like they are the only sounds in the world. Jiyong matches his breathing to complement his hyung’s without really deciding to: inhales each soft puff of air Seunghyun breathes out.

Jiyong knows Seunghyun is coming closer even with his eyes closed: he can sense the tiny change in temperature and the microscopic shift in the current of the air. It takes two more deep, slow breaths and Jiyong idly wonders if Seunghyun is studying his face. He hopes he is, but he doesn’t open his eyes to find out.

Their lips brush so lightly for so long that Jiyong has time to think perhaps this is all it will be, but finally Seunghyun gently pushes in. Jiyong forgets to react at first and his lips simply pillow under Seunghyun’s. When it occurs to him to kiss back, the heat seeping through him intensifies, and some part of him observes its progress out from his mouth and heart. Now the hinge of his jaw, now the points of his shoulders, now the bottom of his ribs. Now the nape of his neck, now the base of his spine. Now his knees, now his elbows, now his fingers, now his toes. When he is fully engulfed, he imagines himself glowing like a lightbulb.

It’s a vast ocean of sensation; a full symphony of emotion. It’s a bird emptying a thousand million miles of beach, one grain of sand at a time.

Seunghyun pulls away, but Jiyong doesn’t mourn the loss. He can still feel him, a comfortable weight in his chest. His eyes flutter open and it’s like he’s waking from a long sleep. Jiyong smiles, maybe his first real one all day, and Seunghyun smiles back.

There’s a tap on the door. “Excuse me?” a woman’s voice calls. Jiyong looks over Seunghyun’s shoulder to the clock and watches as the time changes. It’s now been two minutes since he came in.


End file.
